go go godzilla!
by teawithmilk
Summary: [2012-verse; turtle tots] Splinter hates Hollywood remakes. He hates even more when his young sons prefer them over the originals.


turtles are not mine. godzilla is not mine. i enjoy writing baby turtles FAR too much.

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**— go go godzilla! —**

Ever since they had gotten the salvaged television to pick up channels, his sons had been far too quiet, absorbed in the flashing pictures on screen. He found it, personally, mind-numbing.

Of course, there were exceptions - he noticed that one channel in particular carried a lot of encouraging, educational content often helmed by a man with a particularly smart cardigan - he could respect a man like that. Indeed, his sons' English skills were improving at a prodigious rate, even through the strange medium of puppetry.

What they were watching now, however, he did not approve of.

A poor-quality, explosion-filled, Hollywood blockbuster version of his most favourite, most precious childhood movie.

It was even set in _New York_!

No, no, _no_, if his children were going to watch monster movies, the least he could do, as a parent, was educate them correctly. He headed over, purpose in his stride, intending on seizing the remote control and switching to something of quality, but then paused as he approached and heard little voices talking from beneath - were they _their pillows_?

"_Shhhhhh_! He's gonna get us!"

"Mikey, it's not even real—"

"Don't say that! He'll totally get us!"

"What are you guys _doing_?" Raphael, standing at the puddle's right, poked the pillow pile with his foot, and scowled until Michelangelo turned that headlight smile on him.

"Pillow fort! C'mon, get in before the monster gets us!" He made sure to do his best scary voice. Raphael gave the fort a considering look, then nodded, scrambling beneath the cushions until his head popped out next to Leonardo, who was staring in rapt attention at the screen.

One, two, three, so where was the fourth…?

_Ah_.

Donatello sat to the left, his toes curling over the lip of the seat and watching his brothers - not the television - intently; timid, quiet, too shy to ask if he could join in, in case his brothers said no.

_Boys_.

With perfect ninja stealth, he crept over to the fort until he was directly next to it, unnoticed by all except Donatello. Then he waited for a particularly loud moment in the movie, as the pithy excuse for a kaiju smashed into a building, let out a loud roar himself, and used his tail to whip at the pillows until they collapsed.

It was interesting to see which son screamed the loudest as they scrambled out of the fluffpile. Leonardo gaped at the destruction, and looked balefully up (and up). "Sensei… why—"

Splinter cocked his head. "Sensei? No. No, that is not my name. My name is," and here he lowered his voice, widened his eyes (the untamable brows that had come with his rat form did have their uses) and bared his teeth. "_Gojira_!"

Michelangelo was the first to cotton on - his face lit up and his jaw dropped and then he dragged Raphael away from the destruction. "HE'S GONNA GET US."

Five paces forward were enough to send three turtles scrambling for higher, safer ground, gleefully waiting for the monster to give chase.

Well. Far be it for him to disappoint his sons; it could even form part of their training.

"Hmm. But I do believe you have forgotten something?"

Three sets of eyes stared back at him, and he reached and picked up Donatello by the carapace, holding him aloft even as the tiny turtle squawked indignantly. "I have a_hostage_." He looked down at the three at his ankles, smirked, and planted a foot on the remnants of the pillow-fort. "Will you save your brother? Or will I feast on soup tonight?"

Donatello gave a quiet whimper, wiggling his feet despondently as though he had already accepted his rescueless fate, and for a brief, panic-filled heartbeat, Splinter wondered if he had missed something terrible among his sons. Were they actively excluding Donatello out of spite, or had he done something to warrant his exclusion?

But then Leonardo looked to Raphael, who cracked his neck, and the three of them charged, letting out _kiai _that any grandmaster would be proud of. They tackled him around the knees and Michelangelo demonstrated some prodigious climbing abilities for such unwieldy paws, and when he finally admitted "defeat" and relinquished his hostage, the four of them clambered around on top of them, relishing in their kill and having defended New York ("_Tokyo_", he admonished) from the evil monster.

And Splinter was thankful - _so very thankful _- that Leonardo had recently lost his front teeth - he was by far the most bitey of his sons.

But he would never permit such a movie to be shown in his home again. The next time his sons would watch a movie, it would be Mothra.

-end-


End file.
